


Feel

by PR Zed (przed)



Series: Angels [1]
Category: Der Himmel über Berlin | Wings of Desire (1987), Take That
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when an Angel falls in love?</p><p>A prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/611254">No Regrets</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel

Howard drifted through the Hacienda, assailed by the thoughts of the humans surrounding him, young women and young men, full of life and desire and insecurity.

_I don't know why I came here. No one'll notice me and the drinks are horrible._

The Watchers, they'd called themselves through the long millennia, observing stars and planets form and thrive and die, until they'd finally been drawn to this star, this planet. They'd watched as life arose and evolved until the humans had appeared. Fragile creatures, they hadn't looked like they'd survive as long as the mice, but here they were, dominant species of the planet. Dominant enough that the Watchers had taken their shape. And then the humans had given the Watchers a new name: Angels.

_She's fit. Did she see me? I hope she didn't see me. Or maybe I hope she did._

Howard wondered now as he often did if they'd waited through all those millions of years just for these frail creatures to appear and give them form and name.

_This place is brilliant. The music is brilliant. I could dance forever!_

He walked across the dance floor, unseen wings brushing the dancers as he passed by them. Some he stayed with longer, letting his hand rest on their backs or resting his forehead against theirs. Some of them seemed to sense his presence, drawing strength or determination from it. Others seemed oblivious to the Angel at their side.

_I'll do it this time. I know I will._

Howard turned towards the thought and saw a tall, skinny, spotty-faced boy standing on the sidelines of the dance floor. He was clearly underage, his dark hair curled with sweat, and was licking his lips with nervousness. A pack of other boys surrounded him, and as Howard watched, two of them, one with dark skin, one with light, executed perfect back flips, then high fived each other. 

Howard had seen this group before, practicing their moves on the streets of Manchester, and then showing them off in the club. But the skinny boy had never caught his eye before. The boy licked his lips one last time, and then threw himself into a shoulder spin on the floor.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck. I bottled it. I'll never do that fucking back flip,_ he thought as he came back to his feet with a flourish.

"Good one," one of the other boys said, the one with dark skin who'd done the back flip.

"Not as good as your back flip," the boy said.

"Don't sell yourself short." His friend clapped the boy on the back, and they moved off, and Howard's attention was taken by other dancers, other souls, other thoughts.

But he didn't stop thinking about the skinny boy. There was something about him…

By chance, he saw the boy again a few weeks later, on a street corner in Wythenshawe. He and a couple of mates were practising their spins and rolls on an old piece of lino. 

Concentrate, Orange. Keep your balance, keep your balance. Don't bottle it. Breathe!

And with that, he spun on his head, ending the move in a triumphant pose and a huge grin.

_I did it! I flippin' well did it! Never thought I would. Nothing feels better in the world. Nothing._

The boy's thoughts were shot through with pleasure at what he'd accomplished, a pleasure that Howard recognized. It echoed Howard's own feelings about flying, the way it stretched him, muscle and bone and sinew, the way it felt to be soaring above the people he watched over, the feel of the wind on his face and the sun on his skin. 

Howard felt a deep regret at that moment. Regret that the boy was human, not Angel. Regret that he couldn't talk to this fragile being of flesh and blood, could only listen to his thoughts, unseen. Regret that he couldn't share the feeling of flight with him, because if any human could appreciate the sensation of flying, he'd bet it was this one.

He watched the boy and his friends until the sun set and they packed up their piece of lino and returned to houses where mums and dads and brothers and sisters waited for them. 

And that should have been it.

Human beliefs about guardian angels aside, Angels did not usually follow one person. They followed thousands, tens of thousands, millions, dipping in and out of instants of lives, invisible witnesses to unseen moments and unheard thoughts. Howard had never questioned their mission, had never questioned what he did, but he was questioning everything now.

He felt as if the boy had plucked a string within him and played a single perfect note, a note Howard had never heard before. He felt drawn to him as he'd never felt drawn to another being, human or Angel, in all the long millennia he'd been alive.

He didn't move until long after the boys and their laughing voices had faded into the night. He stayed on the corner, watching the empty place where the boys had danced, grappling with what to do. But in the end, there was never any doubt about the course he would choose. 

He stayed at the corner until dawn, when the neighbourhood once more stirred with life and people took to the streets. And then he set out to learn what he could about the boy.

He haunted Wythenshawe until learned the boy's name, Jason Orange, and where he lived, a crowded house filled with six boys and one very resourceful mother. He sussed out the days Jason danced on the streets, and the nights he tried to get into the clubs. (Tried, because his fake ID didn't always work. Didn't usually work, when Howard first started watching over him. He must have been very lucky, that first night Howard saw him.) He found his school, and who his friends were. And then he began to follow the boy.

But not all the time.

He would sometimes go weeks or months and only see him briefly, walking to school, or pratting about with his brothers. Then there were weeks that he'd spend every day sitting in the back of Jason's classroom, listening to the thoughts of him and his classmates and teachers. Or he'd wait every day for a month at the same street corner for just one glimpse of him dancing. He watched as the boy grew taller, though no broader, as his spots faded and the beauty of his form became clearer. He watched as he kissed girls, in clubs, in parks, on his own front doorstep, and boys, in dark alleys and different sorts of clubs. (When he kissed the boys, Jason's heart would hammer, his breathing would come fast and shallow, and his thoughts would be full of terror at the possibility of getting caught. Howard couldn't help thinking how stupid it was, making a boy fearful of loving who he wanted. There seemed so little love in the world; surely it would be better to have more of it, not less.)

He watched as the boy left school and got a job and somehow, when Howard wasn't looking, became a man. But boy or man, the one thing that never changed was the dancing. He never stopped dancing, whether it was on the streets or in the clubs or, once he'd made a name for himself, on the television. It was when Jason danced that Howard was most drawn to him, when he felt the connection to him most keenly. Some nights, he'd let himself move closer to Jason as he danced on the stage of the telly show, or on the dance floor at the Apollo, let the feathers of his wings ghost over Jason's head, across his shoulders and back. And there were nights that he felt Jason knew he was there, when he seemed to stop suddenly and glance around, as if to find the unseen watcher at his shoulder. Those were the nights that Howard prized the most, and that frightened him more than anything. 

He'd made one rule for himself when he'd first started following Jason: that he never enter his house. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed safer for both of them. 

But finally one night he broke the rule.

It had been a good night. Jason had been dancing at the Apollo, not because he had to or because he was being paid, but for the sheer joy of it. He'd managed every move he'd tried—but he hadn't tried the back flip that still always seemed beyond his grasp—and he positively glowed with the achievement. Howard had watched as Jason was surrounded by a group of girls and boys. The girls stole kisses from him, and the boys patted him on the back, and Howard felt jealous of every single one of them.

It was a new feeling, this jealousy, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. So he followed Jason all night, laying a hand on his shoulder as often as possible, occasionally brushing feathers down his arm. He followed him as he left the club, and followed him on the bus back to Wythenshawe, and followed him into his house and into the cramped bedroom he shared with two of his brothers.

He watched as Jason stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed in a pair of trackie bottoms. He watched as he closed his eyes, as his breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep. He watched as Jason tossed and turned, and as his eyes began darting under his lids, the sign he was beginning to dream.

Howard didn't even think about it, he just closed his own eyes and stepped into Jason's dream.

In the dream, Jason was back at the club. But this time the club wasn't packed with crowds of dancers; it was empty, save for a shadowed figure in the DJ booth. Jason waited until the DJ dropped the needle on a record, and then he started to dance. His dancing was even more breathtaking here than it was in the waking world, as was his beauty, his long lashes and severe cheekbones. That beauty hit Howard as strongly as Jason's joy in the dancing, and he found himself pulled to him. 

He strode through the club, wearing nothing but black trousers and the armoured breastplate he'd worn when they were Watchers, not Angels, and were fighting the Enemy. The bronze of the armour blazed under the lights of the club, and his wings were fully opened. Jason started at his appearance for a brief moment, but then he smiled at Howard, almost as if he'd expected him, and held out his hand. Howard took the hand, his grip warm and strong, and then, with the logic of dreams, they were suddenly outside the club. Howard held Jason with both arms, beat his wings, once, twice, and took to the air, pulling Jason with him. He flew higher and higher, until all Manchester was spread out beneath them, its lights twinkling in the darkness while the dark bulk of the Pennines lurked in the east. 

He held Jason tightly in his arms as he hovered in the air. In the muted light of the half moon, Jason looked at him intently, then raised a hand tentatively to Howard's cheek. The touch of Jason's fingers on his skin felt to Howard like the time he'd flown through a thunderstorm, his skin alive and crackling as lightning struck around him. But this time the electrical storm was his connection to this human. His lips parted and a sigh escaped them, and that made Jason smile again.

Then Jason took his hand away, wound his arms around Howard's neck, and said one word.

"Fly."

It was a command Jason didn't have to repeat. Howard tightened his grip on Jason, and then beat his wings, faster and faster. He swooped over Manchester, skimming the tops of buildings before soaring high into the sky until the city was a mere collection of pinpricks of lights, then gliding down again. He flew over Wythenshawe, looping over Jason's house before heading to Moss Side and Maine Road stadium, where he'd seen Jason watching many a football match. He flew back to the city, then over all the clubs he'd ever seen Jason dance at, from the Hacienda to the Apollo. 

He looked over at Jason's face, and saw he was grinning, and that spurred him further. He soared up into the air and pushed himself to go faster, as fast as Angel wings could travel. They were over Liverpool in an instant, the Mersey and the sea glittering beneath them. Another swoop, and it was London beneath them. He flew all over England, showing Jason the beauty of the country from the air, and the joy of flight he'd wanted to share with him for so long. They returned to Manchester as the sun began rising, casting its first silvery light over the peaks of the Pennines.

He looked across at Jason, the light from the dream sun hitting his face and making it more beautiful than ever. Jason smiled at him, making Howard feel a glow warmer than the real sun in summertime. 

"Thank you," Jason said, then leaned in and kissed him lightly, so lightly that Howard could barely feel the touch of his lips. As Howard watched, Jason's eyes slipped closed and he and the world around him began to fade into nothing as he drifted back to a dreamless sleep.

With a jolt, Howard found himself standing back in Jason's room, listening to the soft breathing of him and his brothers, and the whispered sleeping thoughts of all the inhabitants of this house.

He reached out and drew an insubstantial finger across the lips that had kissed him in the dream world, and felt something burst in his chest. The sensation felt so awful and terrible and wonderful that he suddenly couldn't bear to be in this room another moment. 

He broke from the house, flying up and up until he was higher than he'd been in millennia, until he could see the edges of the planet, could see the light of the sun against the cold dark of space. And then he turned and folded his wings and plummeted back to earth, letting himself plunge and spiral, nearly out of control, until he could see the ground rushing up to meet him. Only then did he open his wings and pull out of the dive so fiercely that he could feel the air tearing at his feathers. He flew all over Manchester, hoping the wind would blow away this feeling that was taking over his chest, his stomach, his head. He flew until he could fly no longer, and finally came to rest on the roof of Old Trafford, his legs dangling over the edge as his wings opened and closed nervously behind him.

He'd been blind. He hadn't known it until now, but he was in love with the human. And he was lost. Completely lost.

It wasn't unheard of, an Angel falling in love with a human. There were always rumours, stories of their kind mooning over a mortal, only to disappear and become mortal themselves. And while it wasn't against the rules—there were, strictly speaking, no rules for Angel-kind, only the things they had always done and the things they hardly ever did—it _was_ looked down upon. After all, who would choose to die for a creature whose life span is less than the blink of an eye to an Angel? Who would surrender the ability to hear the thoughts of all humanity for the companionship of a single being? Who would give up flying?

It was the thought of never flying again that pained Howard the most. Never to feel the wind in his face as he soared into the sky. Never to feel the satisfaction of pushing his wings as hard as he could and flying across this precious island in two beats of his heart. Never to be able to arch his wings just so and climb on thermals of air around the city.

But the alternative felt worse. Never talking to Jason, except in dreams. Never feeling the substance of him. Having to watch him age and sicken and die while he, himself, went on forever and ever, amen.

So there he sat, caught between the unbearable and the intolerable, and not knowing what the hell he was going to do.

* * *

Jason woke up with the feeling that he was missing something. As if someone had cored out an essential piece of the centre of him and hidden it away, leaving him feeling hollow in his heart. He pushed his palm against the centre of his chest as if that could stop the feeling of emptiness.

The feeling didn't stop, but he was distracted from it by a pillow thrown at his head.

"Time to get up, lazy bones," Justin said.

"Piss off," Jason replied, and threw the pillow back at his brother, grinning in satisfaction when he scored a direct hit to Justin's face.

In the resulting scuffle, he almost forgot the hollow feeling in his heart. Almost.

It was only at breakfast, with a spoonful of muesli halfway to his mouth, that he remembered the dream. The dancing and the flying and the kiss. And the angel. Tall, handsome, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a bronze breastplate that looked like something he'd once seen in the armour section of a museum on a school trip to London, and with wings such a light grey that they were almost, but not quite, white.

"What are you smiling for?" Justin asked as he crunched on his cornflakes.

"Nothin'," Jason said hurriedly.

"Bet he's thinking about a girl," Oliver said, giving Samuel a wink. Dominic rolled his eyes at both of them.

"Nah," Justin said with a nasty grin. "Bet he's thinking about a boy."

"Leave off, Just!" Jason blushed, and gave his twin a kick under the table as hard as he could with a bare foot. He was never going to tell Justin a secret again, especially not one about liking boys.

"Ow! Mum!"

"Don't be a baby, Justin," their mum said from the counter where she was sipping a cup of tea as she oversaw her brood. She reached over and tousled Jason's hair. "And you, you leave your brother alone."

"He's a prat," Jason said, hoping against hope that his mum hadn't heard what Justin had said. 

"Of course he is, but he's family," Jenny Orange said with a smile, even as she gave Justin a cuff 'round the head. "Now all of you, eat your breakfast."

Jason relaxed in relief, certain now that his mum hadn't heard the offending remark. The last thing he wanted was to have _that_ conversation with her. But then she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in close to his ear.

"Be careful, love," she whispered, then kissed the top of his head, and Jason knew he hadn't got away with anything, and that he was going to have to talk to her, and sooner rather than later. Not that he had a clue what he could say to her. He barely understood his feelings about whether he liked boys or girls or both; he wasn't sure how he could explain them to his mum, or anyone else.

 _Bet the angel would understand you_. The thought was unbidden, but it made him blush all over again. Because if there was one thing he remembered from the dream, it was the thought that the angel _did_ understand him. That he knew Jason and—this was mad, and he knew it—loved him. And he thought that he might just love the angel.

Which absolutely proved he was mad, falling in love with a part of his own subconscious. Because what else was a dream?

"Hurry up." Justin gave him a retaliatory kick under the table. "We're going to be late for the bus." He got up and dumped his dishes in the sink and gave their mum a kiss. "They won't like it if you're late for work again. You might get fired."

"That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," Jason said, as he rinsed out his own dishes and gave his mum a kiss and stuck out his tongue at Oliver and the others. "I don't want to be painting flats all my life."

"What else are you going to do?" Justin asked as they raced upstairs to get ready. "You can't very well make a living dancing, can you?"

"I might be able to," Jason said. He was making a few quid from his gig on the telly, after all. And then there was the clipping currently sitting in his wallet, the one Des had cut out of the paper for him: _Singers and dancers wanted for a new boyband_. If they didn't mind too much about his singing, he knew he could sell them on his dancing.

"No one from Wythenshawe is ever going to be a professional dancer, brother mine. Not even you." Justin dashed out of the room and shut the door before Jason could throw another pillow at him. 

He pulled on his work clothes and caught the bus. He made it to work on time, just, but it didn't make any difference to the foreman's mood. The man was a miserable bastard all day, and he had Jason doing nothing but painting trim until he had the worst crick in his neck. And the whole day all he could think about was the dream and the angel and how he still felt like there was a piece of himself missing. By the time the work was done on the flat, Jason was sore and tired and about ready to scream. 

He had to go out, had to dance, had to try and fill the hollowness at his core, had to forget the angel that didn't exist. So, he took the bus home, scrubbed the paint off his hands and out of his hair, and put on his favourite clubbing clothes. Not the ones he wore to the Apollo, but the ones he wore to Canal Street: tight jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a leather jacket over top. The clothes he wore when he wanted to dance until he was dizzy and pull a bloke and snog him in the back. Maybe tonight he'd find the nerve to do more than snogging.

He almost made it out of the house without his mum seeing. Almost, but not quite.

"Where are you going, Jay?" she called from the kitchen just as he was opening the front door to leave.

"Just going out for a bit, mum."

"It's only Thursday. You've got work tomorrow." She came out of the kitchen drying a dish from tea.

"I know. I'm not a school kid anymore. I'm a responsible adult."

"You'll always be my little boy," she said with a smile, then moved forward and gave him a hug.

"Mum…"

"Oh, you, you're never too old for a hug from your mum." She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and gave him a little shake. "And I meant what I said this morning: you be careful. I want you all to be happy, and I want you all to be safe." Her smile had dissolved and she looked at him with an expression that was as serious as he'd ever seen on her, as serious as she'd looked when she'd had to tell them all their dad was moving out.

"I'll be careful," he said, then gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Don't wait up," he called out as he went out the door.

It took him an hour to get into Manchester, and by the time he hit the dance floor of his favourite club he was buzzing with a need he couldn't name. He danced and drank and tried to let the wild energy of the club fill the emptiness inside of him. He danced with more men than he'd ever done before, kissed a few of them, was fondled by a few of them, and couldn't stop being disappointed that none of them was the angel.

He finally grabbed a bloke who'd been eyeing him up on the dance floor for at least half an hour. He thought he might have seen the same bloke, tall, narrow-faced, a bit posh looking, the last time he'd been to this club, looking at him like a starving man looks at a meal. Well, he was ready to be made a meal of.

"You look like Jeremy Irons," he told the bloke as he dragged him towards the back of the club.

"Then call me Jeremy," the bloke said with a laugh, his voice as posh as his looks.

Jeremy was handsome, but even when he was smiling his eyes were hard and cold, with none of the warmth that his angel had shown. And maybe that was the appeal, that he was as far as Jason could get from his memory of an angel that didn't exist.

Jason turned and tried to kiss Jeremy in an alcove just off the dance floor. He ground their bodies together, willing himself to feel something, but Jeremy had other ideas.

"Not here," he said, taking hold of Jason's hand. "This way." He dragged Jason through concrete corridors that reeked of stale beer and sex, out through a heavy steel door covered in graffiti, and into an alley at the back of the club.

"That's more like it," Jeremy grinned as the door shut behind them with a thud. Through a fog of arousal and alcohol, Jason realized that there was something ever-so-slightly off in Jeremy's grin, and he felt a sudden spike of fear in his gut. He looked back at the door they'd come through, saw there was no handle on it, no way of getting back into the club, and he wished that he'd followed his mum's advice to be careful.

Jeremy took Jason roughly by the shoulders, still with that increasingly cruel grin on his face, and pushed him against the wall so hard that Jason's skull bashed against the bricks.

"Hang on." Jason put a hand on Jeremy's chest. "Go gentle, hey?"

"Gentle?" Jason's hand was knocked away. "And here I thought you were up for a bit of rough." He pushed Jason back again, his grip on Jason's arms unyielding.

"I've made a mistake," Jason said, and tried to break from his grip.

"You're fucking right you've made a mistake." Jeremy let go of him with one hand and slapped Jason in the face. Hard. Jason felt his skin sting, felt a ringing in his head, but before he could do anything, Jeremy did it again.

This was it, Jason thought, his head reeling form the slaps. This was the time his luck ran out, the time he finally took a beating. But he wouldn't go down without a fight. He struggled to get his arms free, even as he used his legs to trip up his attacker. He was strong, but Jeremy was stronger, and the only thing he succeeded in doing was landing the both of them on the ground, with him squashed on the bottom.

"You stupid litte shit," Jeremy growled. Jason looked up and saw the man's expression change from smug aggression to outright fury. "I'll teach you your place."

He began striking Jason with his fists. He hit Jason's head, his face, his stomach, his ribs, any soft target. Jason tried to protect himself, but the blows seemed to be coming from everywhere. The man finally let go of him and stood, and Jason sighed in relief, thinking that was the worst of it. But then the kicking began.

 _No, no, no!_ Jason screamed in his head, even as he curled up in a ball in a futile attempt to protect himself. His face felt wet with tears and snot and blood, and his body was nothing but pain. When Jason thought it couldn't get any worse, he heard a snick, and opened his eyes to see Jeremy standing over him holding an open blade.

"I've seen you before, strutting around the dance floor as if you own it. As if you think being pretty boy gets you anything you want," Jeremy said, his face a terrible sneer. "Let's see if you're so pretty when I'm done with you." He began to bend down, his blade gleaming in the light of the single streetlight.

* * *

Howard spent the day on the roof of Old Trafford, alone but for the pigeons and gulls that swirled around him and the thoughts of the groundskeepers far below, preparing the pitch for the next game day.

Lose flight or lose Jason; lose immortality or lose the chance of love. There were no good choices in this game, and as the day went on he was no closer to making a decision. When dusk began to descend on the city, he could take inaction no more. He stood, stretched his wings and took to the air.

At first, Howard had no destination in mind, no goal. He was flying for the sake of movement, for the taste of the wind and the feel of the clouds. Gradually, though, he started circling the centre of Manchester, the streets where the clubs pulsed with life, where the thoughts of the humans below weren't of how to repair a patch of grass on a football pitch, but of dancing and pleasure and sex. He let the concerns of these short-lived creatures soothe his own worries as he circled Canal Street, settling on top of one of the clubs and breathing in the energy of the neighbourhood, of men seeking men. He closed his eyes and extended his senses, hoping to attain a calmness that had deserted him last night.

And then he heard it.

_No, no, no!_

Jason's thoughts, Jason's panic, cutting through all the other noise of the city. The thoughts held pain and fear and despair, and Howard was in the air heading towards him before he'd made a conscious decision to move. He could feel Jason in an alley ahead, and then he saw him, huddled in on himself, his arms covering his head, his legs pulled up to protect his body, as another man kicked and kicked him.

Howard hovered in the air above them, not knowing what to do. He'd seen violence before, seen beatings, seen murder, seen the destruction of the Manchester Blitz and the slaughter of countless wars. But never had violence struck him so hard, so keenly, so _personally_.

As he watched, the man stopped kicking, and Howard experienced a moment of relief. Maybe it would end here. Maybe he wouldn't have to make his decision right now. 

But then the man pulled a knife from his pockets and Howard realized his decision was already made. Had been made the day he first saw Jason dance.

He landed in the alley hard, with his wings making a downdraft that whipped up dust and the fag ends of cigarettes and scraps of greasy paper. Even as the wind they'd generated blew his hair into his eyes, he could feel his wings fading from his body. He became light-headed as he felt the pull of the planet's gravity on flesh and bone for the first time. He felt the unyielding press of metal on his chest from where his armour had materialized underneath his great coat, providing welcome protection against the knife wielded against him. His eyes blinked once, twice, as even in this dimly lit alley he was assaulted by a riot of what the humans called colour, so different from the blacks and whites and greys he was used to.

He wanted to do nothing more than to huddle in this alley, to shield himself from all the sensations this new type of existence was throwing at him. But he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself any weakness now. Not when Jason needed him. He took a breath and stood tall and placed himself between Jason and his attacker.

"I don't think you want to use that," he said, flicking his gaze briefly down at the knife in the man's hand.

The man had looked briefly awed by Howard's sudden appearance, but now he clenched his jaw and hardened his expression.

"Fuck off," he said. "The pretty boy's mine."

It had been millennia since Watchers had fought the Enemy, long before they had started serving as sentinels over this tiny planet and become Angels, but Howard remembered the War, and he remembered how to fight. He didn't hesitate. He moved quickly forward, knocking the knife to the ground and wrenching the man's arm hard enough for him to cry out. But that wasn't enough; the man still held his ground. Howard managed to move forward onto the balls of his feet just before the man barrelled into him, knocking him down, and landing a series of blows on his upraised arms, his chest, his stomach. Howard was shocked that one of these frail humans could inflict such pain on him, but he only let himself hold back for an instant. He roared and rolled and landed on top of his attacker, aiming his own blows at his most vulnerable places, solar plexus and throat and kidneys. Finally the man gave up fighting and held his own hands up in defence, and only then did Howard roll off him and stand.

"Go," he said, to the man, pointing to the alley's entrance. In response, the man got up to a crouch and spat blood onto the ground. Howard braced himself for another attack, but it never came. The man stood fully up and looked sneeringly at Jason.

"He's all yours," he said, and then stumbled down the alley. Howard, wary of a renewed attack, watched until he was out of sight, and only then turned his attention back to Jason.

He took one step forward, and staggered, the fight having taken more out of him than he'd realized. But he would not show weakness, not when Jason was curled on the ground, in need of his protection and care. So he drew on what remained of his strength and with assured steps crossed the few feet to where Jason lay.

So many times today, he'd imagined what it would be like to meet Jason in the human world. He'd imagined running into him on the street and taking his hand. He'd imagined meeting him in a club and dancing with him all night. He'd imagined holding him in his arms as he'd done in his dream. None of his musings had been like this, finding Jason bloodied and broken in a dark alley.

But dwelling on how far reality had strayed from dream wouldn't help Jason. He stomped down on his feelings, knelt beside Jason, and gently stroked his back.

"You're safe, now," he said quietly. "That bastard's gone."

"Thank you," Jason said, not taking his eyes off Howard.

"Can you straighten out?" Howard asked. "So I can check if anything's broken?"

"Yeah." Jason did as he was asked quietly, only whimpering once when Howard touched a sore place on his side.

Howard tenderly ran his hand over hands and ribs, arms and legs, and was relieved to find nothing broken. Though that didn't mean there wasn't a hidden injury deep inside the man.

"There are no breaks. But we should call someone," he said, trying to remember what humans did when someone was injured.

"No." Jason shook his head. "I just want to go home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He tried to stand, and succeeded only in collapsing back on the ground again.

"You'll never make it on your own."

"You'll help me." It didn't strike him until later that Jason hadn't asked a question, but stated a fact, as if he already knew that he could count on Howard for everything.

"Alright." He used his scarf to wipe the worst of the blood from Jason's face, then stood and took hold of his hand. "I imagine this is going to hurt," he said, and then pulled Jason to his feet.

Jason went white underneath the blood, but he didn't scream and he didn't pull away. He leaned against him, a warm comforting weight Howard was happy to support.

Howard got Jason down the alley and onto Canal Street, and finally managed to hail a cab brave enough to take one man covered in blood and another wearing bronze armour—later, Jason would assure him they were far from the oddest fares a cab working Canal Street would have seen—and began the trip to Wythenshawe.

Howard gave Jason's address without asking, and only realized his mistake when he looked over at Jason and saw him looking at Howard with the same wonder he'd shown when he first appeared in the alley.

"Where did you come from?" Jason asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"From down the alley," Howard said, deciding to be entirely literal-minded about answering the question.

"That's not what I meant." Jason shook his head. "You're the angel. From my dream."

"Yeah." There seemed no point in denying it. He'd have to tell Jason, sooner or later. Sooner was always better.

"You're real," Jason said, his voice barely audible.

"Yeah." 

"I'm glad." He reached and took hold of Howard's hand, his grip shaky and weak. And then, as Howard watched, he drifted into unconsciousness. Howard put his arm around Jason, cradling him as best he could against the bumps of the road.

"Your mate run into a bit of trouble?" the cabbie asked.

"Yeah," Howard said, holding Jason tightly. "But I'm going to look after him now."

* * *

Jason awoke to the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead, and a soft pillow under his head. It didn't feel like a hospital. In fact, it felt like his own bed.

He forced his eyes open and saw his mum sitting at his bedside, a look of concern on her face, while the early morning sun peeped in the window behind her.

"Hi, mum," he said, then tried to smile. He didn't get very far with that. Every inch of his face hurt. Every inch of his body hurt. Though he couldn't be too badly off if his mum hadn't packed him off to the A&E, could he? 

"Oh, Jason," Jenny Orange said, and though she wasn't crying, Jason could hear the tears behind her words. "I told you to be careful, didn't I?"

"You always said Justin and I never listened to you."

"You never have."

He blinked a few times, and tried to piece together everything that had happened, but he could only remember flashes around the beating. 

"How did I get home, mum?"

"Your friend brought you."

"My friend?"

"Or is he your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" He'd been right at breakfast. His mum knew the secret he thought he'd been so good at keeping. At least that meant any conversation with her on the matter of whether he liked boys or girls better was probably not going to be as difficult as he'd feared.

"Big bloke with curly hair. Says his name's Howard. He showed up at the door with you in his arms, scared me half to death." She frowned. "He was wearing armour. I made him take it off and leave it at the front door as soon as we had you on the couch."

Armour. Curly hair. The angel.

"Howard?"

"So he says. Is he not your friend, then?" His mum was looking more concerned. "Because he's downstairs with your brothers, waiting for you to wake up, and if he's not your friend, if he's dangerous, I don't think I should leave him there."

"He's a friend," Jason assured her. "He's the one who saved me. I just didn't know his name was Howard."

"He can't be a good friend, if you didn't know his name."

"I think he might be more than that, mum." He was struck by a sudden, physical need to see the angel, to see Howard, to confirm that he was real. "Can you ask him to come up?"

"I don't know." She looked at him as if he were a difficult book she was trying to read. "Maybe that's not such a good idea." She picked up his hand gently and held it.

"Please, mum. Just for a few minutes." He squeezed her hand and willed her to understand how important it was that he saw Howard. And after a long minute, she relented.

"Alright. But only for five minutes."

"Thank you, mum."

She gave him a look and then left the room, leaving him lying there, wondering what the hell he was going to say to an angel.

* * *

When he'd spent yesterday on the roof of Old Trafford stadium, considering what it might be like to be human, he'd only thought of what it might be like to be with Jason. He hadn't considered that he would also have to deal with other people. Like Jason's family. But here he was, sat in the living room of the Orange household, while four of Jason's brothers ate their breakfast and looked at him with protective suspicion. 

Though at least it wasn't as awkward as it had been last night. He'd thought Jason's mother was going to kill him when she'd opened the door and found him on her doorstep holding her bloodied and unconscious son in his arms, but he'd somehow managed to convince her that he'd saved Jason, not beaten him. Once they'd got Jason settled in his own bed, he'd also managed to convince her to let him stay the rest of the night, "until I know Jason's alright," he'd said. 

"I suppose it's the least I can do," she'd said. "But only if you take off that ridiculous fancy dress armour and leave it at the door." 

It had been a small enough sacrifice to make.

So he'd sat on the couch, watching the window outside as the darkest hours of night slowly became dawn, listening to the sounds upstairs of Jenny Orange tending to her son, and struggling with his body's new need for sleep. He hadn't let himself submit to the unfamiliar weakness, not when Jason might still need him, but he now felt a grittiness in his eyes that blinking couldn't erase and he felt as though he were wrapped in a mental fog.

"How do you know my brother again?" Jason's twin, Justin, asked, his tone not entirely kindly.

"I've seen him. In the clubs. Dancing. He's a good dancer, your brother."

"Hmm," Justin said, failing to look impressed.

"Are you a dancer?" one of the younger brothers, Oliver he thought, asked.

"Me? No. I just like watching."

That answer made Justin look even more forbidding, and he decided he should just keep quiet after that.

He was saved from the resulting endless silence and Justin's glares a little while later by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Jason's mother appearing in the room.

"Jason's awake," she said, though she still looked worried rather than relieved.

Howard felt a rush of relief at the news.

"I should go see him," Justin said.

"Wait," Jenny Orange said. "He's asked to see Howard."

"Him?" Justin said in disbelief. "What's he to Jay?"

"A friend. Is that right?" she asked, turning to Howard.

Howard nodded, not trusting his voice to answer.

She looked at him then, her eyes searching his face as if for some sign of his true nature and true intentions. "You just be careful not to hurt my boy."

"I won't, ma'am," Howard said, ducking his head in respect.

"Right, then. You can have five minutes with him." She waved him towards the stairs. "He's in the room at the left. Off you go."

He flew up the stairs two at a time, but then hesitated at the top, outside of Jason's room. The last time he'd been here, the _only_ time he'd been here, he'd heard Jason's thoughts and walked in his dream. Now he was mortal and all that was barred to him. He didn't know what Jason was thinking, didn't know how he'd react to him. For the first time in his existence, Howard felt fear.

But he knew he couldn't let this new life be ruled by fear. It was far too short for that. So he reached out his hand, turned the handle and opened the door to Jason's room.

* * *

Jason heard voices downstairs, a pause, footsteps running up the stairs, and then nothing. 

He sat up and gathered the covers in his hands, anxiously listening for any sounds outside the door.  
In the little time since his mother had gone downstairs, he'd half convinced himself that last night was yet another dream, or maybe that he was losing his mind. Then the doorknob turned and the door open and a man stepped into his room.

Howard.

His angel.

For a brief moment, he saw Howard as he'd been in his dream, his bronze armour gleaming with the reflection of Manchester's skyline, and his wings spread out behind him, ready to fly, but then he blinked, and he saw him as he was. A long, black overcoat and a white shirt spattered with Jason's blood had replaced the armour. His hair, tied back in his dream, was now a loose bunch of curls that tumbled into his eyes. His face was as handsome as Jason remembered, though haggard now, as if he'd not slept.

 _Did angels sleep?_ Jason wondered.

The expression on Howard's face was shy, and Jason took a brief comfort in knowing the angel was no more certain of their situation than he was.

"Thank you," he finally said, breaking the silence between them. Then he looked down to where he hands still wound in the covers.

"No need," Howard said, his voice low and husky. "I just wanted to help."

Another silence descended over the room while Jason struggled for the words to say. Having Howard in his room, doubt began to plague him again. Had he imagined everything? Had he imagined Howard appearing from nowhere in the middle of the alley? Had he imagined his resemblance to the angel in his dream?

 _But there's the armour_ , a voice whispered to him. _Your mum saw the armour, too._

"Is it true?" he finally blurted out when it was clear Howard wasn't going to say anything. "Did I dream you?"

"I was in your dream," Howard said. "It's not quite the same thing."

"But that's not possible."

"I was a Watcher. You call us Angels." Howard moved forward and sat gingerly on the wooden ladder-back chair his mum had abandoned. "We watch over you lot, listen to your thoughts, your dreams."

"And you save people?"

"No." Howard shook his head. "Not usually. We're meant to be witnesses, nothing more."

"But you saved me."

"Yeah."

Jason blew out a breath and struggled to understand what all of this meant.

"What's next? Do you go back to being an angel?"

"No." Howard shrugged his shoulders.

"No? What do you mean no?" Jason felt angry and anxious.

"It's a one-way thing. Once you cross over, you can't go back."

"So, you're human? Forever?"

"Yeah."

"You'll die now?"

"Yeah."

"You did that for me?"

"Yeah." 

"Fucking hell." Jason settled back heavily on his pillow, feeling paler than he had just a moment ago. "Why?"

"That man was going to kill you." A fire sparked in Howard's eye. "Or at least hurt you badly, more than he already had. I couldn't let him do that."

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why me? Why now? Someone who's been around as long as you have, you must have seen other people die, other people killed. Why save _me_?"

* * *

Howard drew in a breath and held it while he mulled over an answer to that question. He'd never been one for talking; it was why he'd been a solitary Angel. Not like some of them, who liked nothing more than getting together on the rooftops to natter on about humans they'd watched and what they'd done and what it all meant. Howard, frankly, just couldn't be arsed with any of that. He'd rather act than talk.

But there were things he knew.

"There are two reasons," he began. "The way you feel about dancing, that's the way I feel about flying. I didn't want the world to lose someone who knew that feeling."

"But you can't fly anymore." Jason looked gutted.

"But I can dance." Howard smiled shyly. "If you'll teach me."

"Of course." Jason waved that request away as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "Now, what's the other reason?"

Howard said nothing, wishing he'd never mentioned a second reason.

"C'mon." Jason nudged him with his toe. "You've got to tell me."

"Because I'd been watching you so long." Howard stumbled over the words and let his gaze drop down to where his fingers worried at a stray thread in Jason's comforter. "And I knew you so well. And I felt that..." He felt his voice drop to a whisper. "I loved you."

Jason sat up slowly, but Howard didn't dare raise his eyes to see the expression on his face.

"Say that again," Jason said, his voice firm.

"I love you," Howard said, slightly louder this time. 

"Oh," Jason said, getting a far away look in his eyes.

"I shouldn't have said anything. I'll go. You'll never see me again."

Howard started to stand up, only to have Jason grab his hand in a firm grip and pull him down again.

"Shut up."

"But, I –"

"Shut up, I said." Jason collapsed back in his bed, as if he'd just used up what energy reserves he had left. "Give me a minute, would you?"

They both sat there motionless for a long time, and then Jason began to speak.

"Do you know why I was at that club tonight? It was because I had a dream. About an angel. About you. And when I woke up, I knew I loved the stupid flying bastard. Except he was imaginary and that was impossible. I was at the club because I was trying to forget him. To forget you. I thought if I pulled a real bloke I wouldn't feel like I was pining after someone who was only a fantasy. And of course, with my usual luck, I pulled a bloke who was a raving psychopath."

"I'm sorry," Howard said, horrified that he was behind Jason's injuries. "You must hate me."

"No, I don't bloody hate you!" Jason yelled. "I love you. Or haven't you been paying attention?"

"Oh." Howard felt stunned. Though it was what he'd hoped, he wasn't entirely sure what would happen next. 

"I tell you I love you and that's all you've got to say? Oh?"

"Yeah." Howard realized then that this was the end of his solitary ways. Jason was a talker, he'd always known that. And if they were somehow going to be together, he was going to have to talk, too. Starting now. "That's brilliant." Not that he was ever going to say much.

"You'd better believe it's brilliant." Jason still seemed annoyed, but Howard could see him begin to relax. And there was one thing that might help him relax even more.

"Can I kiss you?"

Jason drew in a deep breath, and then nodded.

"Best be careful," he said. "I don't think there's an inch of me that doesn't hurt."

Howard was very careful, indeed. He leaned in slowly, and touched his lips carefully to Jason's, letting their breaths mingle. As kisses go, it may have lacked passion, but it had the promise of more, the promise of a lifetime together.

* * *

Jason closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of Howard's kiss, on the slight roughness of his lips, and the warmth of his breath. On the complete gentleness of his touch.

He sighed when Howard began to pull away, and finally opened his eyes. Howard reached out to Jason, his hand stopping just inches from Jason's cheek.

"What colour are your eyes?" he asked.

"Blue," Jason said. "Just like yours." What kind of person didn't know what blue looked like? _An angel_ , a voice in his head whispered.

"That's blue." Howard's voice was a whisper. "I always wondered what blue looked like."

Jason looked closer at Howard's eyes, at the brilliant blue of them, more brilliant than his own. And he began to notice other things, like how bruised the skin under Howard's eyes was and how utterly done in he looked.

"Have you slept?" he asked, reaching out to stroke Howard's arm.

"Angels don't sleep," Howard said.

"You're not an angel anymore, are you? And you look knackered. Have you got anywhere to stay?"

Howard looked away and shrugged, and Jason realized immediately it was a stupid question. He'd only just become human and rescued Jason. When was he supposed to have found a flat?

"You can stay here," he said, then scooted back in his bed towards the wall, leaving a just barely angel-sized space beside him. "C'mon." He pulled at the collar of Howard's coat. "You can have a lie down and then we'll get you sorted out." 

Howard hesitated for a moment, but then he sighed and slid into the bed beside Jason, making himself comfortable and then laying a cautious hand on Jason's arm. He closed his eyes and was breathing slipped into the deep, even rhythms of sleep almost immediately.

 _Fucking hell_ Jason thought. _I don't just find a boyfriend. I have to find one who's a former angel._

Which was going to cause its own kind of complications. They'd have to get Howard an identity, one that let him pay his licensing fee and poll tax and all those lovely things he was certain angels never had to worry about. Jason reckoned some of the dodgier blokes he'd gone to school with might be able to help him out there. They were going to have to find him somewhere to live. Jason didn't figure his mum would want Howard kipping in his room or on the couch indefinitely. Maybe they could move in with Simon. Maybe this was the universe's hint that he should move out on his own.

And Howard was going to have to get a job. He wondered what sort of skills an angel might have, besides flying.

He'd said he wanted to dance. And weren't angels supposed to be able to sing? Jason thought again about the ad stuck in his wallet. Maybe they could both audition for that band.

He had no doubt that everyone he knew would tell him it was impossible for him and his newly acquired boyfriend to both become pop stars. But they'd probably tell him it was equally impossible to have an angel—a real-life, fucking angel—as a boyfriend, so that showed how much they knew. 

He settled under the covers and closed his eyes, feeling comfortably protected by Howard's bulk in the bed beside him, and slid into sleep almost as quickly as Howard had.

* * *

Jenny Orange waited downstairs for longer than the five minutes she'd promised Jason and given Howard. She sat in the living room with four of her other sons and waited while she listened to the low rumble of voices coming from upstairs, ready to intervene if it sounded like she was needed. But the voices were only raised briefly, and she didn't interrupt, not until it had been a good ten minutes since she'd heard anything from upstairs.

"What are they doing up there?" Oliver finally asked. "I need to get ready for school."

"You don't suppose they're…" Justin trailed off with a significant look at his mum.

She shook her head. For all that he was a bit odd, Howard didn't strike as the sort of man who'd have risked copping off with a new boyfriend with said boyfriend's mum downstairs. Not when the boyfriend had been beaten and he'd obviously got no sleep at all. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check.

She went up the stairs with the heavy tread of a mother who'd learned to give her sons more than ample warning that she was on the way, then slowly opened the door and peeked in.

She couldn't help but smile at what she found. The pair of them were both asleep on Jason's bed, turned towards each other, Howard with one hand resting protectively on Jason's side, and Jason clutching at the lapel of Howard's coat. Howard looked so tired, and so vulnerable, that she didn't have the heart to wake him. Besides, the way he was holding Jason, even in his sleep, told her how much care he would take of her son.

She stole the cover off Justin's bed, drew it over Howard, tucked them both in, and then left them in peace.

In spite of the beating he'd taken last night, Jenny had the sudden sensation that Jason had finally found everything he needed.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"Rob, leave off," Mark squeaked from the centre of the studio where they were currently rehearsing. Rob, of course, didn't leave off. Instead he tackled Markie and knocked him to the ground, where the two of them rolled around on the floor in mock battle, giggling.

"Shut up, the pair of you," Gaz bellowed from the corner of the studio, where he was frowning over the notebook of lyrics he always had with him.

"Ignore them," Howard said, putting his hand in the small of Jason's back where the warmth of his skin spread to Jason's. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and picture what you're trying to do."

Jason gave Howard a nervous smile, then followed his instructions.

Nearly eight months they'd been together, and the last six months of that they'd been in the band. Jason still couldn't believe his good luck. Being in the band was good—the boys were a lovely bunch of lads, when they weren't annoying him, that is—but Howard…being with Howard was utterly brilliant.

Not that everything in his life was sunshine and rainbows. For a start, they all agreed Nigel was a right bastard. (Well, all of them but Gary, who wouldn't hear a bad word against their manager.) A bastard who seemed likely to get them places, but a controlling bastard nonetheless. 

Nige had been none too pleased when he'd found out he and Howard knew each other, after they'd auditioned separately. He seemed to want to control every aspect of their lives, down to who they saw and what relationships they had, or didn't have, and his eye always seemed to rove over the both of them a little more than the others, and a little more than was professionally called for. Jason reckoned Nigel would go mental if he ever realized he and Howard were a couple. Which was why they were keeping that part of their lives completely secret from everyone associated with the band.

Fortunately, that didn't mean they couldn't touch. They were an affectionate bunch, all of them, with hugs and kisses exchanged freely between everyone. If Jason kissed Howard more than the others, he didn't think any of them noticed.

But just at this moment, what he wanted from Howard wasn't a kiss or a hug or anything like that. Nigel and his pet choreographer had fucked off for the afternoon, leaving them free to do what they wanted in the studio for an hour or two until they got back. And what Jason wanted more than anything was to finally do a fucking back flip.

Howard had proved a more than able student when it came to breakdancing. He'd learned all Jason could teach him in two weeks, and then quickly surpassed him. He'd managed back flips and front and back hand springs so easily it was as if he could still fly. And now he was teaching Jason how to do the back flip that he'd never been able to manage.

"Remember," Howard said, "having the bottle's as important as your technique."

"I know."

"Just jump as high as you can."

"Yeah."

"Don't try to jump back. Just get the height."

"Okay." Jason took a deep breath and flexed the muscles in his legs, preparing for what would come next.

"Then tuck your legs in and arch backwards and you're down. Easy." Howard smiled at him.

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy for you to _do_." Howard rubbed his back, reassuringly. "Now, open your eyes and fly."

Jason opened his eyes, his heart thudding in his chest. Howard stood beside him, a confident smile on his face.

Jason smiled back, his nervousness suddenly leaving him. Then he bent his legs, counted to three, and he flew. Up into the air, higher than he usually jumped he was sure, tucking his legs at the top, and spinning back to land with both feet planted firmly on the ground and his hands in the air in triumph.

He heard a gasp behind him, and turned to see Mark and Rob staring at him with their mouths gaping open, and even Gary looking impressed. But it wasn't their opinion he cared about.

He turned to the man beside him, to find Howard smiling at him as if he couldn't have been prouder. Before he could react, Howard lifted him up and spun him around the studio, before putting him back down and hugging him tightly.

"I knew you could do it," Howard said quietly in his ear. "I've always known you could do it."

Jason hugged Howard back as the others broke their silence and gave him a standing ovation.

He'd wondered a lot in the last few months what it would have been like if things had been different, if he'd been allowed to become an Angel. If Howard hadn't needed to give up his wings, hadn't had flight take from him. If they'd been allowed to soar above Manchester and England together. But that wasn't how things work, as Howard had explained to him countless times.

Just at the moment, he didn't care about any of it. Doing a back flip had felt like flying for a fraction of a second, and now he knew why Howard had mastered it so quickly. If they couldn't fly the skies, then at least they could do _this_ , could fly across stages together.

Jason took the hand of his love and gave it a squeeze. Then they both threw their arms in the air and did a deep bow for their band mates.


End file.
